


Han Solo: Accidental Babysitter

by skatzaa



Category: Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018), Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Babysitting, Found Family, Gen, Han Joins the Rebellion Early, Kid Fic, Podfic Available, Post-Solo: A Star Wars Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-01-24 14:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18573130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/pseuds/skatzaa
Summary: “How did you even get on my ship?” Han asks, bewildered. He should’ve kept his nose out of it. Working for Jabba seems like a much better fate, right about now. Hutts have nothing on very angry, very powerful parents who are worried about their children.Jyn and Leia exchange a look, like they’re considering not telling him.“Listen here,” Han says, waving a finger in their direction and feeling very much like his grandmother, may she rest forever in Seventh Hell. “I don’t care who your dads are, if you don’t tell me now I will throw your asses in an escape pod and space you.”





	Han Solo: Accidental Babysitter

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! This fic was most definitely a labor of love, and it's about twice as long as I originally expected it to be, which means my thanks are twice as big as well. Shout out to Syd for being my sounding board, as always, and to Kiera for putting up with me when I got crazy close to the deadline. Thank you to stardustgirl for the beta, this fic is much better for you having looked at it.
> 
> And thank you to reena_jenkins for the podfic as well as the lovely cover art. Holy cow, it's officially my new favorite thing and I haven't even heard all of it, as of the moment when I'm typing this. You tackled a monster with this one and have my undying gratitude for that. I'm including [a link here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18683614) to the podfic if you prefer that over reading written fics.
> 
> Please excuse my shoddy science hand-waving; there's only so much that Wookieepedia can help before even I have to admit defeat and start making stuff up. This was so much fun to write, I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> ETA 1/3/2020: Made some minor edits for stuff I missed the first time around. Nothing too major though!

 

 

 

“A rebellion,” Enfys says. Han doesn’t want to be rude, so he doesn’t scoff. He might, you know, roll his eyes a bit, but c’mon: a rebellion? Really? She continues, “You could come with us, you know. We need warriors and leaders like you.”

His first instinct is to smile and pass on the offer. The life expectancy of a rebel in the Galactic Empire can’t be very high these days. And, with a solid ship, he can make a good enough living as a smuggler, so long as he doesn’t piss his boss off too badly. Only low levels of treason are required in the smuggling line of work.

Enfys can’t be that much younger than him, and he knows she’s seen just as many of the galaxy’s nasty bits as he has—so how can she really think a rebellion is actually _possible_?

Han glances over at Chewie, who shifts as the wind does in order to keep his hair out of his eyes. All the sand must be a gigantic pain, but Chewie hasn’t complained once. Instead, he’s staring at Han, like he’d be willing to go wherever Han decides to take them.

Han thinks: he can get a fast ship and find an established crew—he’s heard that Jabba, one of the Hutt crime lords on the Outer Rim, is looking for spice smugglers—and have an easy enough life running goods until either the Empire catches him or he does something to piss Jabba off.

Han thinks: Enfys and her gang fight back. Syndicates like Crimson Dawn or the White Worms are small Corellian potatoes compared to the Empire, but someone’s gotta stop them before you can topple whole galactic governments.

Han thinks: sixty million credits of coaxium. That’s a hell of a lot of money, it can’t be that all of it goes towards helping others. Even rebellions gotta pay their people, right? And sure, his life expectancy with the Cloud-Riders may not be great, but at least with these guys he only has to worry about pissing off the Empire, which will pretty much be his _job._

Chewie jabs the point of his elbow into Han’s shoulder with all the subtlety and force of a 20-T Railcrawler.

Han throws him a glare before looking at Enfys again. She’s young, sure, but instead of the naivete Han half expected, all he can see is her certainty in herself and her path. He can respect that sort of confidence.

If he’s being honest with himself, after his years in the Navy and this fiasco with Beckett, the last thing he wants to do is hurt innocent people. If he goes to Jabba, he’ll become complicit in situations just like Crimson Dawn’s actions here on Savareen.

He doesn’t want to be a part of something like that.

[Let’s do it,] Chewie says. Han clicks his tongue in acknowledgement.

A gust of wind pushes his hair into his eyes; it also flares Enfys’s cloak out behind her. With her sharp eyes and bright hair, she cuts a striking figure.

“You know what, kid,” Han says, his mind already jumping to lightspeed. He’ll have to double check with Chewie, but he’s got the beginning of a plan forming. “I just might take you up on that. But there’s something I need to do first.”

Enfys raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t push. She looks a little pleased; Han thinks he probably should feel pleased too, what with dedicating himself to a righteous cause and all that, but mostly he’s just tired and more than a little sore from the fight earlier.

She pulls a hand from the folds of her heavy coat and holds it out. Resting on her palm is a single vial of coaxium—worth about ten thousand credits, give or take, if Han knows anything at all—and a heavily modified, long-range comlink.

Well, he was right about the payment part at least.

“These might be useful to you,” she says. “When you’ve finished, send a comm. It’s encrypted, but be cautious.”

Han nods as he takes them and shoves the comlink into an inner pocket of his jacket. The coaxium gets passed off to Chewie.

Enfys continues, “We’ll let you know when we need you. Coordinates and a time.” She hesitates, tilts her head to one side. “There are other groups that we work with, sometimes. Don’t trust anyone that doesn’t know my mother’s real name.”

Han nods again. That sounds simple enough; what could go wrong?

He turns on his heel and takes a step. Stops. Turns back.

“And, uh, what’s your mother’s name again?”

 

“You know,” Han tells Lando, as Lando hands over the access codes to the _Millenium Falcon_ , “I’m working with a new crew. They could use a guy like you.”

There. That was plenty subtle.

Chewie bashes him with an elbow again. Maybe not so subtle then. Han winces and rolls his shoulders back, one after the other. He’s gonna end up with some permanent bruises at the rate they’re going.

Lando raises his eyebrows—people do that a lot around Han, and, _really_ , he has no idea why—probably, if he’s being honest, at Chewie’s reaction more than Han himself. He purses his lips, either thinking it over or pretending to.

“No,” he says eventually, drawing out the vowel. “I don’t know what you’re getting mixed up in, _Han_ , but I’m staying out of it. Associating with you has already cost me Elthree and the _Falcon_. I’d like to at least keep my life.”

“Don’t forget your dignity,” Han says, starting toward the ramp, because the dig is honestly too easy. “That’s gone too. But it’s your loss, buddy.”

“Hey, wait a second,” Lando says from behind him. Han slows, half expecting—despite the fact that he knows better—that Lando’s actually going to take him up on the offer, if only to stay close to the ship. “I’m keeping the capes, too, so don’t you dare take off with them.”

Han scoffs. Of course.

“Are you listening to me, _Han_ ? No don’t close that ramp—Chewie, so sorry, I didn’t realize that was _your_ foot— _Han_!”

Han smirks as he swaggers toward the cockpit. Oh, he’ll let Lando keep the capes, and a lot of other things, if he asks nicely. But he’s gonna have his fun first, especially after Lando made Han track him down on this backwater, bug-infested jungle. Numidian Prime is on the opposite side of the Mid Rim from Savareen and parsecs away from any hyperspace lane, and Han would almost be impressed at how fast Lando got set up here—if he didn’t know the man’s ship.

The sound of Chewie and Lando arguing, audible even through the _Falcon’s_ hull, is like sweet, sweet music. Especially since Han _knows_ Lando doesn’t understand Shyriiwook.

Maybe he’ll leave Lando the rental shuttle, too. He’s feeling generous like that.

     

Han drops Enfys an encrypted message as they pass into the Expansion Rim. Chewie groans when Han tells him but there’s nothing he can do about it now beyond spacing Han and/or his comlink, both of which definitely won’t happen. Probably.

...Chewie probably can’t fly the _Falcon_ on his own.

Look. Han isn’t going to seek out trouble; he knows better than that. But if trouble comes looking for whoever’s dumb—or brave—enough to send an obviously encoded com in the middle of one of the most dangerous regions after Hutt Space and the Imperial Center, well. Han has some time to kill and a really fast ship to get acquainted with.

By the time the comlink beeps with an incoming transmission—two pings for a live feed, rather than a recording—close to two months after he parted ways with Enfys, the _Falcon_ has had more than a few slapdash repairs. He’s also made his own modifications, especially in the cockpit. Lando might be one hell of a pilot, but he’s not Han.

He opens the feed. “Yeah?”

Chewie grumbles under his breath; Han ignores him.

“Identify yourself,” the person on the other end of the line says—no, _demands_. They definitely aren’t Enfys, probably aren’t human or near-human. The voice is too throaty, with clicks after certain syllables, to be anyone from Enfys’s crew—Han has an ear for voices, and he hasn’t heard this one before.

Not human—probably not an Imp, then, but not guaranteed to be one of Enfys’s rebel friends, either.

While he’s working all of that out Han’s mouth gets the better of him, and he finds himself saying, “Only if you identify yourself first, _buddy._ ”

Silence.

The comlink clicks off.

Damn.

Han knows he’s screwed up, even before Chewie growls at him. [You screwed that one up, you bantha-brained moron.]

“I know, I know,” Han says, tucking the comlink away again before turning his attention back to the viewscreen. “Hey–! _You’re_ the bantha brained one here, not me, pal.”

  

The next time the comlink activates, they’re in the middle of a firefight—and _not_ in space. This would be so much easier if they were in space, Han thinks as he ducks behind another market stall. Even with a crew of two the _Falcon_ could handle these bastards easily.

One of the bastards shoots the table Han is hiding behind; Corellian apples go flying everywhere. Han did _not_ need pulverized apple down the back of his shirt, thank you very much.

The comlink beeps twice in quick succession, and then again. Han swears, pushing himself back further against the table as he tries to fish it out of his jacket pocket.

“Solo,” he says when he’s able to bring it up to his mouth, peering around the edge of the table as he does so. He jerks back just as another blaster bolt flies past.

Damn, he wasn’t going to give his name in case Enfys set him up.

“You’re a smartass, Han,” Enfys says, and he feels giddy enough with relief at hearing her voice that he almost laughs. Another shot whizzes by as the Twi’lek that started all this mess shouts something in Ryl. Han doesn’t understand every word, but he gets the gist of it. The guy isn’t professing his undying love, that’s for sure.

The comlink crackles out some static.

“Is this not a good time?” Enfys deadpans.

 _Now who’s the smartass_ , Han wants to say, but he’s too busy surging to his feet and diving for the next booth when the table finally takes one too many bolts and splinters. Somewhere in all the chaos, Chewie is _not_ happy.

“ _No_ , why would you say that?” Han pops up from behind the table and gets off two shots before he has to duck back down. “You got something for me?”

“Yes,” Enfys says. Han scoots forward on his butt until he can shimmy into the alley between two of the houses that line the plaza. There, that should buy him a minute to talk. Chewie can take care of himself. “I’ll send you the coordinates soon. There’s a meeting in two days between several of my allies and I need you there. Can you do it?”

He rises into a crouch, blaster held ready as he chances a glance around the corner. All clear. He says, “Sister, I can do _anything._ How will I know I’m with the right people?”

“They’ll know my mother’s name, like I told you. And they’ll be on the lookout for your ship.”

The only reason he doesn't ask how she knows what his ship looks like is because he hears shouting, followed by footsteps too close for comfort. Han shuffles back and winces when something in his knee gives a twinge. Isn’t he too young for knee pain?

“Hey,” Han says before she can hang up. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone on Thaere Privo, you would? Chewie and I are in a bit of a bind.”

Enfys doesn’t mock him, though he thinks she considers it based on the length of the pause. Then:

“You’re the ones causing the fuss in the Jysh Marketplace, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yep,” he says.

Enfys sighs. “Give us a minute.”

Gotta hand it to Enfys’s crew: they’re an efficient bunch. Not two minutes late, Enfys herself steps into the mouth of the alley, helmet tucked under one arm. A breeze kicks up and tugs at her cloak and hair. It’s quite the dramatic image, and Han wonders why he never manages to look that put together after a fight. Unfair, is what that is.

“Han,” Enfys says. “Nice to see you again.”

He pushes himself to his feet, determinedly ignoring the way his knees crack.

“You too, kid,” Han tells her. He doesn’t even use that much sarcasm. “Thanks for the backup. How’s Chewie?”

Enfys turns away, back toward the market, and Han picks up the pace to catch up with her. To say the marketplace is a mess would be generous. A good portion of the stalls are little more than piles of rubble. They should probably get out of here before someone brings up topics like _law enforcement_ and _reimbursement for damaged goods._

He sees Chewie on the far side of the plaza, standing guard over the Twi’lek and his buddies, who don’t look like they’ll be capable of clearing out anytime soon. As Han watches, Chewie looks down and nudges one none-too-gently with his gigantic foot. The Bothan makes a pathetic attempt to roll away from the assault. Han presses his lips together to keep from smiling.

Several of the Cloud-Riders are scattered around, as close to relaxed as they get out in public, he’d wager.

Enfys strides toward her speeder bike without seeming to notice the mess. Han follows a step behind. When he gets to the stall he’d been hiding in, he glances around to ensure no one’s watching before stooping to grab one of the scattered Corellian apples.

...It’s already bruised, so it’s not like the vendor will be able to sell it anyway.

“Han,” Enfys warns without turning around. Oh, so we have eyes in the back of our heads now, do we?

Han puts the apple back.

When Enfys reaches her speeder, she digs through one of the overflowing side bags. There’s a self-satisfied smile on her face when she pulls her hand back out and offers it to Han.

He picks the item up and examines it: it’s a tiny data chip, about half the size of his pinky nail. There can’t be much on it.

Enfys says, “They’re meeting on Averam, but the Cloud-Riders and I are expected elsewhere. The exact coordinates are on the chip. Can you do it?”

Two days to Averam will be pushing it, especially since, last he heard, the Hydian Way was still under heavy Imp control. With any other ship, it wouldn’t be possible.

Good thing he has the _Falcon_ , then.

“Sure,” he says, then considers. “Fuel’s not cheap though, especially to haul ass halfway across the galaxy.”

Enfys rolls her eyes but twists around to rummage in another bag. She tosses a credit chip at him.

“There,” she says, “that should cover it. But don’t get used to it. We aren’t made of credits.”

Apparently, sixty million credits don’t go as far as they used to. Who’d have thought?

“Good luck, Solo,” Enfys says. She doesn’t wait for a response before swinging onto her bike and pulling her helmet on. Around the marketplace, her crew follows suit. Han can really respect someone who runs a smooth operation. Maybe, after this, Enfys will let him work with her directly instead of as her middle man. He’d prefer that over messenger boy.

He gives her a little salute as the bike growls to life and then steps back so she can pivot the bike without bowling him over.

There’s movement at the edge of the plaza, and Han catches a glimpse of what looks like white plastoid out of the corner of his eye.

“Chewie!” he yells. “Time to go, we’re gonna have company!”

  

They make it to Averam in two days, barely. There’s a run in with an offshoot of the Ohnaka Gang, the slimy bastards, that damages the starboard hull plating, and a near miss with a star destroyer a few parsecs from Yag-Dhul. Elthree’s navigational systems are probably the only reason they make it through both things with the _Falcon_ mostly unscathed.

Han eases them out of hyperspace just beyond the orbit of Averam’s third moon and dips them under the southern pole to reach the proper coordinates. Averam’s pretty from orbit, if a little bland for Han’s tastes. He’s never been here before, because there’s little reason for _anyone_ to, unless they’re a fan of extensive marshland or know one of the locals. Even its position so close to the Hydian Way isn’t enough to make it memorable.

Would explain why Enfys’s friends chose to meet here, he supposes.

They set down the _Falcon_ in a clearing between the towering trees close to the coordinates. Enfys’s rebel friends chose their location well—a more heavily wooded area with low-lying vegetation and even some hills to obstruct the line of sight. They’re in a relatively uninhabited part of the planet, far inland from the marshy cities at the edge of the continent. It’s a tight squeeze with the way the largest trees’ branches stick out all over the place, but they manage it with minimal swearing and probably only one or two scratches to the paint.

By the time they’ve shut the _Falcon_ down completely, Han’s already itching to get back up in the black. Maybe it was a mistake to agree to help. It’ll take more than sixty million credits to create a rebellion that’ll actually be a viable threat to the Empire.

Chewie stands, and the way he jostles Han _has_ to be purposeful. There’s no _way_ his elbow could end up basically in Han’s jugular without some serious effort. Chewie says, [Stop daydreaming, cub. They’re waiting for us.]

Han stands and throws a dirty look in Chewie’s direction as he leaves the cockpit, choosing not to dignify the _cub_ comment with a response.  There’s a blaster hanging in the corridor; Han nabs it before Chewie can and tucks it in his thigh holster. He ignores Chewie’s grumble and smacks the ramp release with his closed fist. Time to get this over with.

The ramp lowers and Han immediately regrets everything that led him to this moment as the humidity slaps him in the face. Right, swamp planet. A mosquito the size of his _fist_ flies past. Han does _not_ shriek, but he does startle back into Chewie.

There’s someone waiting for them at the edge of the clearing, their face obscured by the grayish moss hanging down from the tree branches. Han looks over his shoulder and shares a _?_ moment with Chewie before walking down the rest of the plank.

The ground’s deceptively soft and tugs at his boots as he walks. If they’re not careful, they’ll have to manually clean out the _Falcon’s_ landing gear before they can retract it. Mud in the servos won’t help at all.

“Identify yourself,” the person says. Basic isn’t their first language, but Han can’t identify their accent.

“I’m Han Solo,” Han says, raising his hands a little to show he isn’t holding his blaster. “And this is Chewbacca. Enfys Nest sent us.”

Maybe it’s risky to just throw all that out there. But Enfys sent him here, and he’ll just have to trust that she didn’t lead him into a trap. He’s a little short on trust these days, but they’re not dead yet, so that’s definitely a point in her favor.

“Hand over your blaster,” the maybe-rebel says, still half tucked away behind a giant ground plant that looks like a fan, if a fan was made out of serrated knives.

“Not happening, pal,” Han says. He glances at Chewie, who shrugs. Fat lot of help he is. “Why don’t you come out here? We won’t shoot you if you promise to return the favor.”

Silence. Then: the maybe-rebel steps out into the clearing, their figure resolving into that of a human man. He holds his hand close to his blaster, but not close enough that Han needs to be worried. He’s overdressed for the heavy humidity, but it doesn’t seem to be bothering him too much. He’s young, even younger than Enfys, though he looks tired enough to be Chewie’s grandfather.

Has the rebellion ever heard of actual _adults_?

“How can I trust you?” the kid says. Now that Han can see his brown skin and dark hair, he places the accent relatively easy. Festian, probably. Or Alderaani, but he doesn’t have the fashion sense to match.

“Look,” Han says. He’s starting to lose patience with all this. “Enfys sent us and that should be enough. The question right now, _kid_ , is whether we can trust _you._ ”

The kid bristles and immediately tries to pretend like he wasn’t offended. He needs to work on his poker face.

Han sighs. “What’s your name?”

The kid stares, suspicious, before he says, “Cassian. What would make you trust me, Solo?”

“Who led the Cloud-Riders before Enfys?” There, that should be just specific enough without giving too many hints, if this Cassian kid turns out not to be associated with Enfys’s buddies.

There’s another long silence as Cassian studies them. Han slaps at one of the ridiculously large mosquitoes while Chewie grumbles.

“Affe Honli,” Cassian finally says, carefully, like it’s a test. Because it is.

Han shakes his head. “Nope, that was her dad. Died when she was a kid. It was her mom. What was her name, kid?”

“Shohu,” Cassian says. He doesn’t say “satisfied?” like Han would’ve mouthed off with, at that age. Cassian’s eyes flick behind Han, to the _Falcon_. “There’s a hangar for your ship so it isn’t spotted.”

Han rolls his eyes. “You couldn’t’ve told us that before we set her down in the mud?”

Cassian shakes his head, without an ounce of irony.

“Radio silence on-planet,” he says by way of explanation. “We can’t risk anything being intercepted, either by the locals or Imperial forces. If you agree, I’ll board to direct you.”

Han and Chewie exchange a glance.

[I can handle the cub,] Chewie says. Han doesn’t know if he should be offended or not to be lumped into the same age category in Chewie’s mind as this teenager. Stars, he feels old.

“Sure,” Han says, shrugging and turning back to the ship. “If you do anything I don’t like, Chewbacca here will rip your arms off.”

Cassian doesn’t look outwardly cowed, but Han doesn’t miss the fact that he stays on the opposite side of the cockpit from the copilot’s seat. He has to stifle a chuckle, because damaging Cassian’s pride will only work against them right now.

The hangar is cleverly hidden, just east of where Han and Chewie originally landed. There’s some sort of large-scale holo that disguises the bay even when the doors are open, but with Cassian’s careful guidance, they guide the _Falcon_ down into the hangar. One moment, they’re dropping down toward a large clearing covered in wildflowers, and the next they’re slipping through it, into a hangar that’s only half full of ships from across the galaxy.

Han lets Chewie deal with most of the landing procedures as he takes the ships in. There’s a small, personal Alderaani cruiser, an unmistakably sleek Nubian yacht, some nondescript transports, no more than three deep-space worthy fighters, and what even looks like an old Clone Wars era gunship. How that one even got all the way out here on Averam, Han has no idea. Supply crates sit, stacked on top of one another, by the westernmost wall. Not many, which means this location hasn’t been in use long term, but more than one or two for a really brief stay.

[Focus,] Chewie snarls, and Han pulls his attention back to the cockpit, where Cassian hovers silently behind one shoulder. He flips the required switches and drops the landing gear, which still needs to be cleaned.

When the ship has been shut down for a second time, Cassian gestures for them to follow him. They’re already in the belly of the beast; might as well see it through, at least to the point where someone tries to kill them for the first time.

As they descend the ramp, Han catches movement at the back of the hangar. When he focuses on it, he sees the back of a tall Togruta just as they pull their hood up and disappear into one of the corridors that leads to the rest of this place, whatever it is.

“This way,” Cassian tells them, so they go. Han won’t admit it, but he’s impressed with the set up. He’s also not too proud to admit that he’s dying to get out of the humidity, which has dripped down through the open bay doors and is clinging, sticky and heavy, to the back of his neck.

They take the same tunnel the Togruta used, and Han only looks back to check on the _Falcon_ once.

 

* * *

 

The hangar bay is empty. Sounds from the world above—birdsong mostly, and, as the sun begins to set, a chorus of insect calls—float in through the open doors and echo strangely off the durasteel walls and the ship hulls.

By the western wall, the sound of shoes scuffing against metal echoes upward, then falls away. It comes again, seeming to multiple this time.

A small head pops up from behind one of the medical crates. The head swivels back and forth.

“All clear!” a high voice says, in what’s obviously an attempt at a whisper.

A second small head appears beside the first. They seem to exchange a glance, before emerging from behind the crates.

The two young human girls creep toward the freighter, docked on the other side of the hangar.

“A new ship!” The taller one whispers. She’s slightly more successful at her whispering attempt. “I’ve never seen one shaped like that before.”

The smaller one nods in agreement. Her hair is slipping out of its braid, and she pushes it back out of her eyes with a frustrated huff. She glances at her friend’s hair, kept short and pulled back in a practical tail, with obvious longing.

When the taller one hesitates, the other girl says, “Come on, Jyn, I want to explore this one. If Papi’s friends find us here we’ll be in a _lot_ of trouble for sneaking onto the ships.”

Jyn pauses for a moment longer, mouth set in a frown. She isn’t convinced.

“C’ _mon_ ,” Leia persists, “if we hid on the ship they won’t see us.”

“Okay, Leia,” Jyn says. She straightens up and squares her shoulders. “We’ll just have to be careful not to move anything around, okay?”

Leia nods again, more vigorously. She reaches out and takes Jyn’s hand in her own, and so they set out across the hangar, toward their new prize.

 

* * *

 

“Who’ll be acting as the decoy, then?” Han asks, bending over the holo to get a better look at his proposed flight path. It’s not fast, but if they’re not flying one of the fake routes to draw Imperial attention, that’s probably for the best.

The man who introduced himself as Saw Gerrera steps forward and Han hears the raspy inhale that tells him Gerrera has taken a breath from his mask. “My Partisans will act as diversions.”

Han glances up, feeling skeptical.

“Why trust Chewie and I with this?” He gestures around the room at the twenty or so beings, Cassian included, hanging at the fringe of the planning group. “You have plenty of pilots here that you’ve gotta trust more than us.”

Another man shifts, drawing Han’s attention. This one he recognized immediately; anyone with a HoloNet connection in the past fifteen years would know Senator Bail Organa. The Alderaani cruiser belongs to him, and he’s probably bankrolling a significant portion of this operation.

“Because, Han,” Organa says, with the blank tone of a practiced politician, “Enfys vouched for you. And your ship will be faster and less noticeable than any of ours.”

Ah. Expendable then. This can’t be that important, if they would give an entire shipment of some sort of important crystal to a new recruit—one they can’t trust yet who could die in transit, or defect to the Empire, or disappear with a payload that would set up a new life somewhere else.

But then again, Organa is an important man and a leader of some sort here. He clearly respects Gerrera, which makes them both spearheads of the growing rebellion. If they’re both needed for this, it must have some importance.

The tension in the room ratchets up another notch as Han thinks it over. The Partisans and Bail’s rebels aren’t fond of another, even a blind man could tell that. And the Cloud-Riders aren’t even here; Han hardly counts as a _representative_ of the group. Clearly, the Empire’s much feared rebel enemy is a more tenuous alliance than most would think.

He’s going to regret this.

“Yeah, sure,” he says. “We’ll do it. Run me through it one more time.”

Bail nods at someone beside him, and someone steps out from behind him. The Togruta from earlier, the hood still pulled up to block most of their face. Bail says, “This is Fulcrum, head of our intelligence operations.”

Operations? Who do they think they're fooling here? Intelligence operations his ass… Han wouldn't be surprised if it was just this Togruta and that Cassian kid. And it’s not like Fulcrum is much older than Han; he isn’t exactly an expert on Togruta facial markings, but the ones he can see on the lower half of their face are still small and rounded. They’re in the first quarter of their life.

Rebellion is a young person’s game, he thinks, reorienting his attention. The light from the holoprojector reflects off Fulcrum's sharp incisors as the plan is explained to Han a final time.

 

* * *

 

On the _Millennium Falcon_ , Jyn rubs her eyes just as Leia tries to hide a yawn behind her hand. This is the third ship they’ve explored today, and the excitement of that, combined with the increasingly difficult-to-reach hiding places they’ve had to use to avoid being found by the adults, has left them exhausted.

Leia abandons the dejarik table and heads across the hold to the corridor she’s pretty sure led to a bunk room.

“C’mon Jyn,” she says, almost tripping over the hem of her dress. It was once white; now, it’s covered in enough dust and grease marks to be a dull gray. “M’tired.”

Jyn pushes herself out of the overstuffed armchair and follows. She looks as though she wants to argue, but Leia is already disappearing from view, so she simply hurries to catch up. The ship isn’t that big, but she doesn’t want to be alone in case its pilot comes back.

Leia palms open the first door she comes across, and smiles triumphantly when it does, in fact, turn out to be the bunk room. She motions for Jyn to step into the room behind her and then closes the door again.

The bed on the right is covered in a lot of very long hair, so the girls ignore it. Instead they choose the bed in the alcove on the left side of the room. Jyn gives Leia a shove up onto the bed and scrambles to join her.

“This isn’t very comfortable,” Leia pouts, propping her chin up on her knees. Her hair falls into her eyes again, but she doesn’t bother to fix it.

“Better than hiding in the cargo hold for three days,” Jyn says, with the authority of someone who has done something of the sort quite recently.

“I guess,” Leia says, petulant and unwilling to outright admit she’s wrong. She yawns again, and this time doesn’t bother to cover it. When she blinks, she’s slow to open her eyes after they close. “Maybe just...a short nap.”

Jyn sits more upright, but after a moment her chin dips low, then jerks back up.

“It has to be quick,” she says. “We don’t want to be caught.”

Leia nods, eyes barely open. She lists to the side, sliding slowly down the wall, before eventually ending up lying sideways, legs still extended forward. It would be an uncomfortable way to sleep for anyone over the age of ten. Jyn’s eyes drift closed and she falls away into sleep, still sitting upright.

By the time the ship is boarded again, both girls are fast asleep, curled up together and only barely visible from the doorway, if one were to be looking for two small girls napping on a random rebel’s ship.

Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately—for them, no one was looking for such a thing.

 

* * *

 

Han slides the last panel into place over the third smugglers’ compartment. Chewie’s outside, supervising the technician who’s fueling the _Falcon._ He has instructions to react accordingly if he finds anyone making unapproved modifications to the ship. Sounds from the hangar float into the corridor, the universal low level buzz of activity as crews finish checking over their ships before take-off.

There’s a second encrypted comlink tucked in beside the one Enfys gave him, this one tuned to the specific frequency Organa and Gerrera’s people will be using during this run. Han pats his jacket pocket once, to ensure it’s still there.

He double checks that the latch is properly secured before pushing himself up, groaning at the way his knees complain. Once this little adventure is over, maybe they’ll trust him enough to let him see one of their med droids. What’s a rebellion without free healthcare?

He tilts his head to the left, toward the ramp, and yells, “Let’s go, Chewie!”

Chewie’s answering groan drifts back up the ramp, but he’s too far away for Han to understand what he’s saying. A few seconds later, Chewie himself comes thundering up the ramp, footsteps echoing loudly off the durasteel. He hits the panel and the servos groan to life, raising the ramp and sealing the hatch.

Han and Chewie move to the cockpit and power up the _Falcon_ , but they have to wait until they receive visual confirmation from a tech to take off. They aren’t the first crew to leave; two of Gerrera’s Partisans have already left, one in a nondescript transport, the other in the Nubian yacht. The distraction and the back up, then; he wouldn’t be surprised if the transport had been retrofitted as a Q-ship. They’ll use the yacht as bait and then the transport will strike. Distraction indeed.

They get the all clear from the tech and Han says, “Alright, Chewie, let’s do this.”

He lifts them up through the hologram and sends them off towards space.

  

They’re hurtling through hyperspace, hours into the trip, when all hell breaks loose.

Han shoves Chewie out of the cockpit—well, he pushes at Chewie’s arm and Chewie goes along with it, because Han’s about as capable of actually moving Chewie as he is of moving a planet—to take a nap. He can handle a few hours with the autopilot engaged. Elthree’s systems eventually plotted a route the rebels agreed was safe enough, but it has them bouncing from minor hyperspace lane to minor hyperspace lane. It’ll take a little more than two days to get to Magnao VI, on the far side of the Mid Rim, to make the drop. If Fulcrum is to be believed, the naturally high magnetism of the planet’s atmosphere should make it impossible for the Imps to scan the planet from atmo and discover the crystal cache. The rebels’ allies will have the advantage, because they’ll know where to look.

He cares less about that than knowing the magnetism won’t mess up his own scanners and systems. Also, he wants to know if the rebels are purposefully crossing the entire galaxy everytime they need to get something done, or if it’s simply the result of poor planning. Hasn’t anyone heard of having a home sector?

Chewie ambles off toward the bunk room, footsteps fading quickly. He’s shed hair all over the copilot’s chair, which makes Han grimace. Gross. He’s gonna have to invest in mini-vacuums for the ship if this keeps up.

Footsteps come thudding back toward the cockpit. Han rolls his eyes and twists in his chair, arm thrown around the back of the headrest. He says, “I _told_ you, I can handle it!”

Chewie appears in the doorway, pushing two small figures in front of him. Han smirks; it’s a stupid prank, pretending some kids have snuck on board the _Falcon_ , but convincing. He wonders if they’re droids, or maybe advanced holograms. Pretty good either way. The smaller one on the right has red crease marks on her face, like she’d been sleeping on scrunched up sheets, and her hair is an absolute disaster. She sniffs quietly then, glancing at the other girl, puts on a brave face. The taller one has the stony expression of an adult three times her age, one being led to their execution.

[ _Cubs_ ,] Chewie growls, but there’s a deeper resonance to it, with a rising pitch at the end of the word, that gives it a depth that wasn’t present when he called Han and Cassian cub. To Han’s inexpert ear, it implies...layers, sort of? It sounds like it would directly translate as cub-of-cub, maybe. He probably needs to brush up on his Shyriiwook.

The taller one rubs her eyes and sneezes. Violently. It starts to dawn on Han that this might _not_ be a prank.

“Uh, Chewie,” he says, rises from his chair. He puts his hands on his hips and squints down at the girls. They both have pale skin and dark hair—sisters, maybe? Eyes are a different color, but that’s possible in families. “What’s with the pipsqueaks?”

“ _Hey_ ,” the little one says. Her accent is definitely Inner Rim, with nothing else bleeding through her Basic. “I’m not a pipsqueak.”

A disbelieving laugh bursts out of Han and he draws himself up. If he looks down his nose a little bit, well, that’s only because she’s like, seven, which means she only comes up to his ribcage. “Oh yeah? Well I hate to break it to you, kid, but you’re definitely a pipsqueak.”

“You can’t talk to me like that,” she says, a tiny ball of righteous fury. “My papi’s your boss. He’ll yell at you.”

The other one hisses, “ _Leia,_ ” as a warning, but Han pays her no mind.

“This is my ship, kid. No one yells at me on my ship,” he says. Not necessarily true, of course; Lando got a bit pissy when Han dropped one of his capes—how was he supposed to know that it was valuable? The thing looked like a ratty piece of fur—and he and Chewie have already fought over the ‘fresher twice. There was definitely yelling involved then, but she doesn’t need to know that.

Hah, his boss. Wait—she couldn’t mean…

He looks at her again, the fine cut of her dress, impractical for a rebel base, especially on a young child. Brown hair, brown eyes. A little pale, but genetics are weird. Her accent could definitely be Alderaani: Inner Rim, not Coruscanti-snobby but full of tight, polished vowels anyway.

Damn.

Han pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s gonna regret asking this… “Is your dad Bail Organa?”

The kid—Leia?—draws herself up and says, in the iciest tone he’s ever heard out of the mouth of anyone under fifty, “Yes.”

He sends Chewie an exasperated glance, but there’s no sympathy there. Chewie’s expression seems to say _you brought this on yourself._ Fat lot of help he is.

“Are you her sister?” he asks the other one. How many brats do the Organas have? He couldn’t tell you if you offered him a reward of fifty thousand credits. He really, really hopes not, though. The only thing worse than having one royal heir stowaway on his ship is to have _both_ of them.

Both of them screw up their faces in the universal _ew_ expression.

“No, my name is Jyn,” she says. _She_ has a clear Coruscanti accent, even more annoying than Leia’s royal one. He doesn’t think anyone at the meeting was Coruscanti. “Saw’s my guardian.”

Okay, he was wrong. Having the children of _two_ high profile rebellion leaders is infinitely worse.

“How did you even get on my ship?” he asks, bewildered. He should’ve kept his nose out of it. Working for Jabba seems like a much better fate, right about now. Hutts have nothing on very angry, very powerful parents who are worried about their children.

Jyn and Leia exchange a look, like they’re considering not telling him.

“Listen here,” Han says, waving a finger in their direction and feeling very much like his grandmother, may she rest forever in Seventh Hell. “I don’t care who your dads are, if you don’t tell me now I _will_ throw your asses in an escape pod and space you.”

Jyn’s face is stony; he half expects her to say she’d rather die than give anything up. Stars, what have the Partisans been teaching this kid?

Leia caves first. “I _knew_ Papi was doing something to mess up the Emperor, but I couldn’t just _ask_. It would freak my parents out.”

“So you just, what, exactly?” Han asks, but then the answer dawns on him. He looks at her in horror. “You snuck onto your father’s _ship_ ? And then onto _my_ ship?”

The girls exchange another glance, this one guilty.

Stars, just space him now. He’s gonna be dead either way when Organa and Gerrera find out that he’s accidentally kidnapped their kids. At least this way, it’ll be mostly painless.

The navicomputer chirps, letting him know the _Falcon’s_ about to drop out of hyperspace.

Han levels them all with a scowl, Chewie included, and says, “All of you just—don’t move. Chewie, keep an eye on them. I’ll deal with the pipsqueaks in a minute.”

  

“Alright,” Han says, slamming and locking the bunk room door behind him, in case either of the brats tries to escape. Leia and Jyn complain loudly inside the room, but he works very hard to ignore it. “Chewie, what do we do?”

Chewie crosses his arms, unimpressed. He’s not even winded from carrying two kids kicking and screaming halfway across the ship. [This is your fault.]

“ _My_ fault?” Han splutters. “How is this _my_ fault?”

Chewie just stares.

“Okay fine, let’s say it is my fault,” Han concedes. “What are we supposed to do with them now?”

[Use the comlink to contact Bail and Saw,] Chewie says, like it’s obvious.

Han throws him a disbelieving look. _Tell_ them?

“No way,” he says, slumping against the wall. The corner of some access panel is pinching his skin. He shifts half heartedly, but it doesn’t go away. “That’ll give them more time to plan how they’re gonna kill us.”

He chews on his lip as he thinks. Call, and they might order Han to turn around. If they do that, he won’t get a chance to prove he’s able to deliver the shipment safely. Obviously, he could get in trouble for taking them, not that he knew the girls were on the ship during take off. But maybe, if they deliver the shipment _and_ come back with the girls unharmed, they’ll prove their trustworthiness…

“What if we don’t tell them?” Han says. He looks at Chewie. The expression on his face is thunderous. Han pushes himself upright again and holds his hands out, placating. “Look, we’re already hours out from Averam. We’ll lose almost a day’s worth of fuel if we go back now. But–”

[No buts,] Chewie snaps. He growls, baring his teeth. [We take the cubs back.]

Han cocks his head to the side, mouth pulling down. “That’s the thing, pal, we don’t _need_ to. The decoys already started on their routes. If we go back now, it’ll mess the timing up and increase the odds the Imps’ll catch us.” He gestures to the door. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them. If Organa and Gerrera haven’t already noticed that their precious angels aren’t where they should be, they won’t until we get back.”

Chewie keeps his arms folded.

Han sighs and rolls his eyes, exasperated. “We gotta make the drop to prove we can. We’ll keep the kids safe, bury the crystals, and come out smelling like Ithorian roses.” He gives Chewie a confident grin. “C’mon, have I ever steered you wrong?”

Chewie doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead just striding off toward the cockpit.

Han takes a deep, centering breath. Or he tries to, but he doesn’t really know how a person is meant to feel when they’re ‘centered.’ So he just rolls his shoulders, shakes the ache out of his left wrist, and turns to face the door again.

Showtime.

 

* * *

 

Bail Organa carries his cup of caf in both hands as he crosses the small room that passes as a mess hall. Only one of the three tables is occupied, and it’s clear that its his goal. At the table, Saw Gerrera has his left arm out on the table with the access panel open, so Fulcrum can pluck at something with the tiny tools in her hands.

Saw pulls an empty chair out with his free hand and gestures to it. “Come, my friend. Sit. They will succeed.”

Fulcrum glances up as Bail lowers himself into the seat with care, the caf mug still cradled in his hands.They exchange nods and then he sighs. If one was paying close attention, they might notice the small shift in his posture; a politician’s version of slouching. Saw and Fulcrum both notice, but neither comment. There may be tension between the factions, and as leaders that means Bail and Saw often find themselves at odds with one another. But here, in a small, dim room, they’re just people. Any weaknesses won’t be capitalized on.

“If I’m honest,” Bail says, “I’m not worried about the kyber delivery.” He sips at his caf and grimaces. The cup gets placed on the table, though his hands don’t stray far. “Enfys speaks highly of Solo, and I know your decoy team will do their job admirably.”

He slouches further.

Fulcrum laughs, her teeth bared. She puts down a tool in favor of another one and hazards a guess. “Leia’s causing mischief again?”

Bail nods. “I feel bad. Breha and my sisters spend more time with her, considering how often I’m offworld, but they don’t seem to have an issue keeping up with her antics. And that’s with Breha governing a whole world on top of parenting her.”

It’s Saw’s turn to laugh, a booming sound that seems too loud for the small space. He thumps Bail on the back, with only enough force to jostle Bail, rather than knock him completely from his chair. It’s unclear if he held back intentionally, or if he was too conscious of Fulcrum working on his prosthetic to really put some force behind it.

“I understand,” he says, smiling. “My Jyn just turned eleven, but she’s already capable of taking down my best lieutenants in a fight.”

“At least Leia isn’t doing that,” Bail admits. “She keeps threatening to cut off all her hair, and skips most of her lessons in order to spar with her weapons instructor.”

“Sounds like her mother,” Fulcrum says, still laughing. She doesn’t catch the sharp way Bail looks at her. “Breha’s told me a few stories about her wild days before you caught her eye.”

Bail gives a weak chuckle. He grabs the mug and sips his caf again before saying, “You’re right, Breha was a bit of a hellion in her university days. But last week Leia tried to run off and join the Royal Air Force.”

Fulcrum snorts, pulling her tools out and laying them on the table. She picks up a tiny light and shines it into the arm to check her work.

“I had to assign watches because no one would volunteer to keep an eye on Jyn while I was gone,” Saw says as Fulcrum closes the panel and sits back. He nods to her. “None of them want her as a responsibility after the incident with the grenades…”

They sit together and tell stories, confident that their people will get the job done, and secure in the knowledge that Jyn and Leia are safe on their home planets and far away from any potential trouble.

 

* * *

 

Han drops down at the dejarik table and flops forward. His nose smashes the activation button and the board whirrs to life. He stares vaguely forward and watches with disinterest as the Grimtaash piece hops forward until it disappears from view. It’s probably walking through the top of his head right now, but he doesn’t care.

Demons, both of them. He is _never_ having children, not if there’s even the slightest chance of them ending up like _this._

He squeezes his eyes shut. There’s a suspicious silence floating in from the direction of the bunk room, but he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to face them again.

[What’s wrong?]

He opens one eye to see Chewie looming above him.

One of the dejarik pieces lets out a high pitched shriek. Han flinches; his nose hits the activation button again, and the board shuts itself down.

“Jyn tried to help Leia with her hair. Leia punched Jyn in the face. Jyn almost broke Leia’s arm,” he recites listlessly. “Then they ganged up on me when they found out all there is to eat is caf, some tubers, and those ration bars we picked up on Thaere Privo that turned out to be expired.”

His shin is still throbbing. He gives up on holding his eye open, because it takes too much effort.

“And now I know they’re plotting something else,” he says, feeling the dread pile up in the pit of his stomach.

Chewie does the wookiee version of sighing, which is much louder than the sighs of most other beings and actually closer to a yell in Han’s opinion, now that he’s witnessed one in person. Ow. Han would rub his ear to stop the ringing if he had the energy for it. Chewie says, [I’ll go check on them.]

Han raises his hand a bit in what could be called a wave, if the observer was feeling generous. He gives himself another minute facedown on the dejarik table. When the minute is up, Han hauls himself upright and heads toward the cockpit. Chewie probably has things under control. He doesn’t need to check on them.

Settled in the pilot’s chair, bluespace stretching out in front of him and the hum of the ship surrounding him, Han lets himself relax. This is going to be fine. Hell, Chewie’s probably great with kids, and Han’s a great pilot. They’ll take care of the monsters, drop off the crystals, and be back to Averam before they know it.

Yeah, it’ll be fine. Great, even.

Reassured, he lets himself doze off. The navicomputer chirps every time the ship is about to drop out of hyperspace, and Han’s a light enough sleeper that it wakes him. He drops them, reorients the _Falcon_ , and jumps them back to lightspeed over and over through the course of what passes for night on the ship; the lights dim overhead.

Between the third and fourth jump, Chewie pokes his head in.

[They need clothing to sleep in,] he says, startling Han. He shoots upright in his chair, feeling a little dizzy.

“Huh?” he manages, leaning back a little. Chewie repeats himself and Han waves a hand in his general direction. “Give them some of my shirts, I guess. Or Lando’s, if he left any.”

Chewie grunts in response and doesn’t say anything else, so Han assumes he’s left. He settles back fully and closes his eyes, determined to sleep a little bit more before the next jump.

After the fifth or sixth one of the night—they’re all starting to blur together a little—he leans back in his chair, considering falling asleep again, when he remembers the girls.

He should probably check on Chewie, make sure they haven’t driven him crazy yet.

Han groans, but makes his way to the bunk room anyway, turning left out of the cockpit so he can bypass the main hold.

When he opens the door, it’s to the sight of Jyn and Leia curled up together in his— _his_ , the nerve of them—bunk, fast asleep. They’re sorta cute when they’re sleeping, tangled up in shirts way too large for them, if Han ignores Jyn’s black eye and the scratches on Leia’s arm. Chewie isn’t in here though, so Han turns around and backtracks to the hold, where he finds Chewie reclining at the dejarik table, oversized mug of caf in front of him.

[They ate tubers for dinner when I explained it’s all there is,] Chewie tells him. He gestures, inviting Han to sit with him. The padding on the bench has seen better days, but Han isn’t about to complain. He needs to get that pilot’s chair replaced, ASAP. [They are good cubs, Han.]

Han grumbles to himself but doesn’t respond outright. He doesn’t want to like them, after they snuck onto his ship and caused him all this trouble. And they’re going to waste fuel going all the way back to Averam to drop the brats off, once this job is done.

...Wait. There’s nothing saying Organa and Gerrera will still be on Averam by the time the mission is done.

He groans and presses his hands against his face.

[Finally realized we’ll have to comm them eventually, didn’t you,] Chewie says. It’s not a question.

The hairy bastard knew all along, didn’t he.

“Yeah, alright,” Han says. “You were right and I was wrong.”

Chewie doesn’t respond. He just lets Han stew in his admission as he drinks his caf.

Damn him.

Han is still sulking when Leia wanders in a while later. The hem of the shirt she’s wearing—definitely Lando’s, Han doesn’t own anything with that much embroidery—almost reaches her ankles. Her arms are crossed over her chest and she looks put out tired.

“I can’t sleep,” she declares. “My teeth feel gross.”

Han sighs, shoulders slumping. He looks at Chewie. “You didn’t make them brush their teeth?”

Chewie only shrugs. Maybe Wookies don’t need to brush their teeth; hell if Han knows.

“Alright kid,” Han tells her, pulling himself up. He feels like he’s moving through Dantooine cane syrup as he leads the way to the bathroom.

Han digs around in the storage compartments for a while, but Lando apparently didn’t keep spare toothbrushes and Han hadn’t thought to stock up on them either.

“Uh,” he says, trying to stall for time. “Why don’t you go wake Jyn up so she can brush too.”

Leia disappears and Han allows himself five seconds to silently panic. Brushing your teeth is important. He doesn’t want to be responsible for his sort of bosses’ kids getting cavities.

The girls reappear in the doorway just as Han spins around. He gives them a large, totally convincing, and not at all maniacal grin.

“Listen up squirts,” he says. Jyn rubs her eyes. Not the most engaged audience he’s ever had, but he’ll take it. “We’re going old school.”

He walks them through how to brush their teeth using just their fingers, mixing in stories about being a street rat to keep them interested. Jyn’s already done something like this, when the Partisans were running low on supplies, but Leia hasn’t. Unsurprisingly, she takes to it rather quickly.

The ‘fresher door slides open and reveals Chewie in the mirror when they’re in the middle of Han’s lesson, making deranged expressions with a finger or two jabbed in their mouths. He makes eye contact with Han for a split second before shaking his head and turning around again.

Han just shrugs. Whatever works to keep them engaged.

He turns his attention back to the girls. Leia has toothpaste on her forehead; he doesn’t want to know how she managed it. He says, “Lemme tell you about this other time, when I was locked out of HQ for three days…”

  

The second day passes a little easier than the first. Han wolfs down a breakfast of too-strong instant caf and expired rations, then takes another shift at the helm. He thinks Chewie sends him a dirty look for abandoning him to the monsters again, but he leaves the hold too quickly to be sure.

About an hour later, Jyn slips into the cockpit and hoists herself into the copilot’s chair. Han eyes her, but she doesn’t look like she’s gonna start pressing buttons randomly, so he lets her stay.

The navicomputer chirps. Han flips a couple switches in preparation.

“What does that mean?” Jyn asks.

Han glances at her sidelong, but she’s still staring at the controls in interest. He sighs soundlessly and gives in, explaining every time he does something as they drop out of hyperspace again.

Jyn follows along quietly, taking everything in.

Han makes the jump, letting her push the hyperdrive lever with him, and then turns to face her. He asks, “You want to be a pilot, kid?”

She shakes her head, staring out at the bluespace. He opens his mouth to tell her not to look too long, when she swings her head around to look at him instead.

“Saw says it’s good to know how to do everything at least a little,” she tells him. “If you know how to do it, not knowing won’t get you killed.”

She slides out of her chair and scampers down the corridor. Han stares after her, baffled. Sure, he learned to talk like that pretty young too, but that’s because he was running with the White Worms. The rebels are supposed to be the _good_ guys. He really wonders how a Coruscanti kid ended up with a group like the Partisans.

He shakes his head and turns back to the console. Elthree’s projections have them reaching Magnao VI in a little over eight hours, so Han settles in for another boring day. Boring, he reminds himself, is very, very good in this situation.

He only manages about another ten minutes of solitude before Chewie storms into the cockpit. He seems more than a little disgruntled, and—yep, when Han takes a closer look those are definitely clumsy, lopsided braids he sees in Chewie’s hair.

[It’s your turn,] Chewie says. He then promptly ignores everything Han says.

Han briefly considers trying to wait Chewie out, but his chances of success there are about the same as if he tried to arm wrestle a gundark. With a defeated sigh, he gives up and trudges out to the main hold.

The demons are there, lying in wait.

“I want to spar,” Jyn says, jaw set at a stubborn angle.

“Uh, no,” Han tells her.

Leia, from somewhere behind the dejarik bench, says, “I want to cut my hair.”

“Definitely not,” Han tells the bench. “I don’t need your mom trying me for treason.”

They sink into a sullen silence while Han goes to the storage panel that passes as a pantry and digs out a ration bar. He hates these things—next time he won’t be so stingy with the supply run—but he eats it with a lot of forced enthusiasm to prove a _point._

“You guys want any of these?” he asks, accidentally spewing crumbs onto the floor when he forgets about his enthusiastic chewing. Oops. Jyn gives a resigned nod, so Han throws her one. The bench stays silent. “Suit yourself, Your Highness.”

Han grabs a few extra bars and shoves them into his jacket pocket, then goes and settles himself into one of the armchairs in the corner. He couldn’t out-stubborn Chewie, but he can take a couple of kids.

The silence drags on. Jyn, after finishing her ration bar, joins Leia behind the bench. He can hear them whispering sometimes, as well as the occasional giggle. Han tells himself it doesn’t bother him.

Eventually, though, he hears what sounds like a very loud stomach gurgle.

“Hey, Your Worshipfulness,” Han calls out. “When was the last time you ate?”

Leia’s head pops up, eyebrows scrunched up. “You’re not supposed to talk to royalty that way.”

Han laughs and pulls his foot up to rest on his knee. He says, “We don’t have royalty on Corellia, and if we did we wouldn’t believe in respecting them, I can tell you that much.”

Jyn appears to Leia’s right.

“I’ve never been to Corellia,” she says. “Saw doesn’t let me come with him on off-world missions yet.” She glances at Leia, a little hesitant, then looks back at Han with the same interest she showed in the cockpit earlier. “What’s it like?”

“Well…” He doesn’t know what’s appropriate for a couple of ten-year-olds. Probably nothing too specific about his time with the White Worms. Leia was talking about royalty—government should be safe enough, right? “There’s a Council that theoretically rules the planet instead of kings and queens. They’re elected, I think. Or supposed to be anyway.”

Leia sighs. “This is _boring_. I don’t want another lesson, this is supposed to be an adventure.”

Jyn shushes her. Han throws Jyn a wink, then continues, “Then there’s CorSec, the police force. But even in Coronet City, they can’t stamp out crime completely. The rest of the planet is really run by the gangs…”

So much for avoiding his time with the White Worms. Han dives into the politics of the planetary gangs, whose turf is where and what the tenuous alliances were, last time he was on Corellian dirt. Jyn hangs onto every word, and the gorier bits keeps Leia’s attention too—he hopes he doesn’t get in trouble with the Organas for this.

With each new story, they inch a little closer, edging around the bench and creeping across the durasteel floor of the hold. Han pretends not to notice. By the time he’s detailing the bitter rivalry between the White Worms and the Hidden Daggers that flared whenever Daggers dared to set foot in Coronet City, the girls are sitting cross-legged by his feet, completely captivated.

Leia’s stomach rumbles again.

Han shifts both his feet to the floor and leans forward, elbows braced on his knees. He asks, “When was the last time you ate, kiddo?”

“A while ago.” She screws her face up. “They’re just so _gross._ ”

“Don’t I know it,” he says. He pulls out one of the extra bars and tosses it to her. Leia catches it and holds it away from her body. “These things are from the Clone Wars, so they’re older than _both_ of you.”

“Not me!” Jyn pipes up. “I was born just after Geonosis.”

Which would’ve made her pretty young when the Republic fell. He wonders if she remembers anything about the fallout, since she must’ve still been on Coruscant when it happened. No one gets an accent that pure without growing up immersed in it.

He points to her. “Fair enough. But even though they’re old, they still have plenty of nutrients that your bodies need.” Han nods to Leia. “How about while you eat that, I tell you about the grossest thing I ever ate.”

Leia still looks a little skeptical, but she peels back the wrapper anyway while Han starts in on the time Qi’ra tricked him into eating kaadu ribs so old, they were practically Spacers leather. He hams it up a bit, so she’s more focused on the story than on what she’s eating.

After she finishes, Han moves them to the table and teaches them the basics of dejarik. Chewie tried, but neither of them understand enough Shyriiwook to follow along as the rules get more complicated.

“Hey, I know that one,” Leia says when he points out the Grimtaash piece. “Grimtaash the Molator. He protects my family from bad guys. Tía Celly told me about him.”

Han doesn’t let his mouth get the better of him this time. Instead, he just says, “I didn’t know that,” and moves on to the Ng’ock.

Jyn, definitely the more reserved of the two, decides to watch when Leia challenges Han to a game. Smart kid.

Leia loses—unsurprising, since it’s her first game. But she doesn’t lose by much, and toward the end she even has Han sweating a bit.

“You’re a natural, kid,” he tells her, and means it. She smiles proudly. She must be a menace to teach.

Han looks around for Jyn and doesn’t see her. He looks down and she’s there, head pillowed on his thigh and fast asleep.

Huh.

Next to him, Leia yanks on her hair and whines when she must catch on a snag. Han glances around and spots a compartment on the base of the table—sure enough, when he pops it open there’s a comb tucked inside the drawer. Lando’s turning out to be a bit predictable.

“Here,” he says, and holds out the comb. Leia takes it and goes back to attacking her hair. “No, wait—you’re doing it all wrong. You gotta start from the ends.”

Leia eyes him distrustfully, comb clutched in her hands still. She says, “Mami told me you shouldn’t let anyone touch your hair unless they’re family. It’s _private_.”

Well that’s a weird tradition, but he’s heard weirder.

“Look, kid.” Han sighs. “I’m not gonna do anything to you, I promise.” An idea dawns on him, and he adds, “Plus, you’re part of the crew now, right? Crew is basically family.”

Leia cocks her head, considering. Finally, she concedes. “Okay, fine. But be careful, it hurts.”

Han takes the comb back and Leia shifts on the bench so her back is facing him. Unbraided, her hair is surprisingly long, nearly reaching the small of her back. He has to twist in a way he’s gonna regret soon so he can reach her hair without jostling Jyn, but he doesn’t complain. Han starts at the ends and slowly works his way up, trying not to think too hard about doing the same for Qi’ra and some of the others, ages ago, because thinking too hard will remind him of the fact that most of them are dead and the rest of them are worse off.

It takes a few minutes, but Han manages to smooth out all the knots with only a few complaints. Leia’s head dips a few times, always jerking upright immediately after.

“I used to braid my friend’s hair,” Han tells her, starting on a simple three-strand Naboo braid. Leia makes a sleepy sound, so Han tells her about Qi’ra—the good parts, when they thought they could take on the galaxy and they were better than the hand Coronet City’s underbelly dealt them.

Lando, the prepared bastard, also put a few hair bands in with the comb, and Han takes one to tie off the braid. Without the support of his hands Leia lists to the side, leaning against the bench’s backrest. Han reaches out and slides her back until she’s braced on his shoulder. Then he leans back and closes his eyes.

  

[Wake up.]

Han jolts upright, eyes flying open. “I’m up!”

By his leg, Jyn grumbles and curls into an even smaller ball. Leia doesn’t stir. Han looks up at Chewie, who’s doing the Wookie version of a smug smirk.

“Don’t even,” Han says, pointing a threatening finger. He flexes his shoulders and arches his back, groaning. Stars, this bench is _not_ meant to be slept on. “Everything okay?”

[Yes.] Chewie motions behind him. [We’re about to drop out of hyperspace at Magnao VI. I think the cubs would enjoy seeing that.]

He’s right, so Han goes about waking the kids up, mostly by gently shaking their shoulders until they swat at him. Jyn tends to scrunch her nose and whine. Leia wakes up more slowly, and the process seems to involve a lot of blinking and yawning.

“C’mon,” Han says, as cheerily as he can manage with something in his back still twinging. “We’re almost there. You guys are gonna love this.”

Three hastily chewed ration bars later, Han plops down in the pilot’s chair as Jyn and Leia decided who they’re going to sit behind. Han and Chewie ease the _Falcon_ out of hyperspace.

Behind them, one of the girls gasps.

Han can’t blame her. He’s been to a lot of beautiful worlds, but Magnao VI might just top that list. He knows there’s seven moons, though only two are visible at the moment, and the ring system is one of the most extensive he’s seen. The planet itself is massive, unusual because it’s terrestrial rather than a gas giant, though at first glance it looks like it’s gas; its surface is mostly bright green-blue ocean, broken up by small- to medium-sized tan-and-green islands, many of them too small to see from this far out. The few clouds are thin, wispy things drifting slowly across the visible hemisphere.

“So _cool_!” Leia says.

Jyn tells her, “Lah’mu had rings like that.”

Han wants to ask how long she lived on Lah’mu for, because he _knows_ that’s not where Saw’s stationed, but instead he has to focus on the controls and making sure the approach is smooth. Magnao VI might be beautiful, but he can see why it’s largely uninhabited; even this far out, the planet’s magnetism is messing with the sensors. It would be a pain to settle a world like this, or turn it into a resort since you’d have to transport all the supplies in, considering very little must grow here. But the more immediately pressing issue is that it’ll be a pain to land the ship without most of the _Falcon’s_ guidance systems. They’ll have to do it, though, if they’re ever gonna make this drop for the rebels.

“Alright, buckle in, pipsqueaks,” Han throws over his shoulder. “This might get messy.”

* * *

Lando pushes his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose and leans back a little more in his chair. He sighs and closes his eyes, arms outstretched to catch the sun’s heat. Magnao VI is in the habitable range of its sun—the only planet in the system that is—but it sits on the close edge of the range. Many sentient beings find it too hot, the air too sticky and smelling too much of salt, but Lando doesn’t fidget. He doesn’t give up and retreat to the relative coolness of his ship, the same rental that Han left him on Numidian Prime. The rental is in Han’s name, so it's not like the angry overdue notice is going to appear in _Lando’s_ HoloNet inbox.

He leans down and picks up a beverage that looks remarkably similar to a Numidian piña colada, right down to the little paper umbrella. The glass is cutting edge technology, and it keeps the drink frozen even in the heat. Lando takes a sip and sighs.

“There’s no way anyone will find me here,” he tells himself. He almost appears to believe it too.

Lando leans back again and wiggles until he’s satisfied. Between the sunshine and the sound of the waves breaking on the sand, he slowly begins to snore.

Then—

The deep hum of a ship breaking atmo wakes him. Lando sits up, looking left and right before tilting his head up toward the sky. He lifts his glasses, rubs his eyes, and puts them back again.

It’s still the _Millennium Falcon_ , beautiful and covered in blaster marks and heading straight for him.

Lando scowls. In a dark tone, he spits out, “ _Han Solo_.”

* * *

What are the odds of someone being camped out on the exact island they’re supposed to bury the cache on?

Grimly, he pats his hip to make sure the blaster is still holstered there and then double checks that the comlink is tucked in his jacket pocket. The decoys should have worked—unless there’s a mole in the rebel groups, which isn’t entirely unlikely.

“Jyn, Leia,” he says, not looking behind him. “I want you to go to the bunk room and engage the internal locks. Don’t open the door for anyone but me or Chewie, okay?”

“But–”

“This is _not_ up for debate!” he snaps. The kids don’t say anything else, and Han only knows they leave from the tapping of their shoes against the durasteel. Han settles his hands more firmly on the controls as Chewie preps the _Falcon_ for her final descent. “You ready for this, pal?”

Chewie growls, and Han wouldn’t need to understand Shyriiwook to know that’s a definitive _yes._

Han tries to hail the other ship over the comms. “Unknown ship, please identify yourself.”

Static. He switches channels and tries again, with the same results. Either Magnao VI is still messing with his systems, or there’s no one on the ship.

The island they’re aiming for is relatively small and covered in trees on the southern edge, so they have no choice but to land the _Falcon_ next to the other ship. It’s a basic transport, sized for one or two beings, and familiar in its plainness.

Han sets the ship down. Her engines throw sand up as they descend, and the final touchdown sends up a significant cloud of it.

Good. If there’s anyone on the beach, that’s one more advantage that Han and Chewie will have. Even if it means having to clean out the filters before they leave again.

They don’t bother to shut the ship down; if it’s an ambush, they’ll need to hightail it out of here as quickly as possible. And until they know otherwise, they’re gonna treat it like an ambush.

Han heads for the ramp, Chewie right behind him. They only have the two blasters, but it’ll have to be enough. He glances at Chewie. “Ready?”

Chewie gives him a nod.

Han moves to one side while Chewie hits the other. When they’re in position, he hits the activation panel and crouches.

No shots. He gives it another moment, but if there’s gonna be a firefight, whoever’s on the beach is waiting.

“We’re coming out!” Han yells. “Don’t shoot unless you’re an Imp. And give us at least a warning shot if you are!”

Chewie groans.

“What?” Han asks, bemused. He unholsters his blaster and waves it in the direction of the ramp. He doesn’t get an answer, so he shrugs and inches his way down the ramp, still crouched low to make himself a smaller target.

Nothing. The sand is settling, glimmering in the afternoon sun where it hangs in the air. But there’s no one.

Han pushes himself upright, blaster held at the ready. The sound of bare feet sliding through sand to his left has him whirling around, blaster up.

“Of all the beaches on all the worlds in the entire galaxy,” Lando says, emerging from the dust that still hovers around the ship.  He looks a little… unhinged. The mesh cape—is he _serious—_ around his shoulders, the oversized sunglasses, and the tiny paper umbrella in his drink don’t help the impression at all. When he jabs his hand in Han’s direction, part of his drink—a piña colada? Really?—sloshes out onto the sand. Han inches back. “You had to land on mine, _Han._ ”

“ _You_ ,” he fires right back, feeling like he’s sucked on a particularly sour Roonan lemon. He _knew_ that ship looked familiar. “Have you been working with the Empire the entire time? Did you put a tracker on the _Falcon_?” He stalks forward and pokes Lando in the chest with the nose of his blaster. He should just shoot the bastard and be done with him.

Lando’s arms shoot up—more of the piña colada drips over his fingers and onto the beach—but his free hand is relaxed. He’s got a blaster hidden on him somewhere, Han just knows it.

“Look, _Han,_ ” Lando says, a cocky smile on his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I would never work with those assholes—not for any longer than necessary, at least.” He laughs a little. Han pokes him a harder with the blaster and Lando raises his hands higher. “I swear on Elthree and the _Falcon_ herself I’m not working with them! Satisfied? Good, now why don’t you put that away before someone gets hurt?”

Without looking over his shoulder, he calls to Chewie, “Keep your blaster on him and shoot if he does anything you don’t like.”

Chewie gives confirmation, so Han holsters the blaster, making sure to angle his body so Lando won’t be able to snatch it the moment he pulls his hand away. He keeps his hands on his hips and considers Lando.

“So you aren’t an Imp,” he muses. It makes sense; even with a tracker, Lando wouldn’t have beat them here in that old rust bucket he’s flying, and he wouldn’t have known which island specifically they were aiming for. This is just the galaxy’s weirdest and most inconvenient case of coincidence. But even if Lando isn’t going to report them, that doesn’t mean he should _know_ about the crystals. That’s just inviting trouble.

Han considers being subtle for about half a second before tossing that idea out the airlock. “What if I told you the crew I’m running with is actually a few of the rebel groups that’re fighting against the Empire?”

He can feel Chewie’s exasperated stare burning a hole in the back of his head but he ignores him, choosing instead to hold Lando’s gaze. There’s a weird sense of certainty building in the spot just behind his sternum. Lando isn’t gonna turn him down.

“And?” Lando asks, his tone leading.

“You could do a lot of good, working with them,” Han says.

“No way.” Lando shakes his head, pressing his lips together. So much for that certainty, then. “There’s no way I’m getting mixed up in that mess.”

Han doesn’t know how to get through to him. He’s already got the man’s ship, what else–?

His ship.

“Look,” he says, raising his hands palms up and shrugging, the image of carelessness. “The way I see it, you come with us, you can be part of the crew. You’d get to keep an eye on the _Falcon_ —though,” he adds, pointing at Lando when his lips curl up at the edges, “I make all final decisions regarding the ship.”

He still doesn’t look convinced, so Han adds, “They pay well, too. I got that vial of coaxium as payment just for joining up.” A stretch, but still technically true.

Lando considers it, head tilted to one side. After a lengthy pause, he decides: “Hmm, still no.”

Han blows out an aggravated breath. There’s really no getting through to this guy.

“How about contract work?” he tries, trying not to let the desperation he’s feeling show. They need him out of the way so they can drop the cache and get out of here before someone _notices_ them. “No commitment needed with good money every time.”

“Like what?”

“I’ve got a job for you right now,” Han tells him. He suppresses a smile, because he doesn’t want to clue Lando in that something’s off, but it’s hard. This is gonna be _good._ “Need you to keep an eye on something while Chewie and I check out the island.”

There’s a long moment of silence. For the first time, Han really feels how blasted _hot_ it is here. He’s been focused solely on Lando, but there’s sweat pooling at the base of his spine and around his hairline. It’s _gross_. Why do the rebels keep choosing to work on humid hellholes?

“Alright,” Lando finally says. Han doesn’t sigh in relief, though he wants to. “I’ll take this job, you’ll _pay_ me, and I’ll _maybe_ consider joining your pathetic little…” he waves his hand at Chewie and Han, “crew.”

“Great!” Han says. There’s maybe a bit too much enthusiasm in his tone, but Lando doesn’t seem to catch on. He motions to Chewie with his head and hears him stand down. “We’ve got it stored in the bunk room, c’mon.”

Han leads the way back into the ship, with Chewie at the back and Lando walking between them. A few yards from the bunk room door he stops and pivots to face Lando.

“Just a sec,” he says. “Gotta make sure nothing shifted during landing, be right back.”

He walks as casually as he can manage toward the door, punches in the override key, and darts through. He only has it open for a moment before he slams it closed behind him.

Jyn and Leia are on his bed again, curled together and facing the door instead of asleep. They glare when they realize it’s just Han.

“You can’t just lock us in here,” Leia complains. “It’s not _fair._ ”

 _Life’s not fair, kid_ is what he wants to say, but Han holds back. It’s not gonna help right now, so instead he says, “Listen up, squirts. Chewie and I found an old friend in need of some help. We have something we need to do before we can leave. Can I trust you two to keep him company?”

“Like spying?” Leia asks.

“No,” Han tells her. He doesn’t need her getting any ideas.

“Like babysitting?” Jyn tries.

“...Sure.” Yeah, let’s go with that. Lando’s gonna love this. “But I need you guys to be quiet for a minute while I fill him in, okay?”

They nod, expressions settling close to what many planets might call ‘war faces.’ Stars, they’re going to be absolutely impossible as teenagers.

Han turns back toward the door, but hesitates. “Oh, and one more thing. I changed the override code. Try to stay in here if you can, but you can use it if you need to. Whatever you do though, don’t tell it to Lando, okay?”

He tells them the code and then slips back through the door. Lando eyes him with suspicion.

“All good,” Han tells him. He glances at Chewie and they exchange tiny nods. “Ready?”

Before Lando can say or do one thing or another, Han punches the door open and Chewie _pushes_ him. Han gets the door closed and engages the override to keep it locked.

“ _Han_ ,” Lando yells through the durasteel. “I’m going to kill you!”

“Gotta get out of there first,” Han says, voice raised. “Oh, and I changed the codes, so don’t bother trying. Good luck with the pipsqueaks.”

If Lando says anything else, Han doesn’t hear it. He exchanges a high-five with Chewie that leaves him shaking out his hand and they head toward the smuggling compartments.

  

He’s gotta hand it to these rebels, things are always right where they say they’ll be.

They have no trouble finding the hatch for the smuggler’s bunker and unloading the crystals. The bunker, if he had to guess, is probably sensor-proof, an added layer of protection in case any Imps _do_ figure out which island the rebels are using as a drop-spot.

Han dusts the sand off the knees of his pants and leads the way back to the ships. He doesn’t care what Lando _thinks_ he’s doing after this; they’re not leaving him here with a heap of rebel secrets just waiting to be traded the moment it’s convenient for him. So that means dealing with him _and_ his ship.

They’ve already decided what the plan is, so they part ways a few yards from the ships, Han heading for the _Falcon_ and Chewie veering off toward the rental shuttle.

Before he ducks under the _Falcon’s_ edge, Han looks up at the sky. The sun is close to setting, and orange bleeds from the horizon towards the rings, which cut a brilliant path across the sky. It’s still humid as all nine hells, and he’s almost positive his face is sunburnt, but it’s beautiful. Maybe someday, he’ll get to come back.

Han pats the underside of the _Falcon_ , where the metal isn’t burning hot, and turns away from the Magnao VI.

After closing the ramp, Han takes the full loop through the ship to pause at the door to the bunk room. When he doesn’t hear any screaming, he figures everything is probably fine in there.

It’s a pain to run through the pre-flight checklist and take off without a copilot, especially a copilot with extremely long arms, but Han manages through the judicious use of his right foot and the last ration bar in his jacket pocket, which he throws at the switch that retracts the landing gear.

The _Falcon_ isn’t big enough to tow the shuttle and the hyperspace capabilities of the ships are too different for them to travel together over long distances. Chewie takes off behind him and they break through atmo within seconds of each other.

They can’t leave the ship behind. They can’t ditch it in orbit. They don’t have the supplies to destroy it. Each option would be no better than pointing a neon arrow at Magnao VI for the Empire to find.

Han flips the ship’s comlink on and says, “You ready, pal?”

Chewie’s response is garbled, but Han assumes it’s a yes.

He wheels the _Falcon_ around so she’s pointing in the opposite direction of their route out of here, and pushes her out.

When they’re in the empty space between the Magnao system and its neighbor, Han circles the _Falcon_ around to face the smaller shuttle. He checks over the sensors, making sure the doors for the loading room are properly sealed and there aren’t any sensor failures. Satisfied, he opens the comm channel again and tells Chewie, “We’re good on my end.”

As he watches, the shuttle’s systems shut down, and it begins to list port side. The ship’s single, tiny escape pod shoots out toward the _Falcon_ , and the force of it sends the shuttle slowly drifting away.

Han waits, and waits, and then flips the switch to open the loading doors. The pod is small enough that it fits without issue, and once Han is certain it’s fully inside the ship he closes the doors again.

He begins to count— _one-Coruscanti, two-Coruscanti_ —before reorienting the ship to match the navicomputer’s trajectory. He waits.

Ten-Coruscanti, eleven-Coruscanti, twelve—

Chewie comes barreling into the cockpit. He throws himself into the copilot’s chair and snaps, [Next time, _I_ get to fly the _Falcon_.]

Han smiles.

They make the jump to lightspeed.

  

Fifteen minutes into their first jump, Han goes and opens the bunk room.

He steps inside, not quite knowing what to expect, and what he finds makes him snort.

Lando is awake and sitting upright on the furthest bunk, his back against the wall and and legs hanging over the edge. Jyn is curled up next to him, her head pillowed on his shoulder. Leia is stretched out across both their laps with her feet on the pillow. It can’t be a comfortable position to sleep in, but that’s obviously not stopping her.

Lando tries to get up, but freezes when his shifting causes Jyn to make a sleepy sound. He settles for sending Han a glare so frigid it’s a shock that he doesn’t just keel over right then and there.

“Enjoying yourself?” Han asks, because he just can’t help himself. Lando just scowls more.

“You took off and these–these _demons_ wouldn’t let me out,” Lando rage-whispers. “We’re in hyperspace. What did you do to my ship?”

Han leans against the doorway and crosses his arms over his chest, smirking. “We ditched it. Don’t worry,” he adds, cutting Lando off before he can interrupt, “we grabbed all your crap first. It’s in the hold.”

Lando closes his mouth with an audible click, still fuming.

Han pushes away from the door frame. “You’ll thank me for this one day, buddy.”

He turns and exits the room, leaving the door open. He hears Lando say, “Over my dead body!”

Laughing to himself, Han strolls back to the cockpit. Chewie’s there, the copilot’s chair turned so he can put his feet up on the seat behind him. He nods at Han as he walks in.

It’s another two hours before they drop out of hyperspace, and Han passes the time by manually tweaking the next few jumps in the navicomputer. He doesn’t know where they’ll have to go next, but it’s better to head toward the Core rather than rimward. They’ll have more options for future jumps that way.

The computer chirps and Chewie drops them. Han reaches into his jacket and pulls out the comlink Gerrera gave him. He opens a channel and waits.

Han stares out at the stars, comlink held loosely in his hand. They’re between systems, so Chewie lets them drift rather than waste fuel keeping them stationary.

There’s a click to indicate the channel is live, and then it’s Organa’s voice, saying, “Identify yourself.”

Han brings the comm up close to his chin and says, “This is Han Solo. We’ve successfully dropped the cache, but there’s another issue.”

Organa’s sigh is made staticky by the distance. He asks, “What happened?”

“We had two pint-sized stowaways,” he says, careful not to reveal too much, even though this is a secure line.

Silence.

Han can imagine Organa out there somewhere—maybe still in the gray, echoing bunker on Averam, his only company the grand plans of rebellion that have yet to come to fruition. Or tucked away in his office on the Imperial Center, speaking softly with the comm held near his mouth. Maybe he’s back on Alderaan—didn’t Leia say she was royalty? He can’t quite picture a palace, when he tries. Probably a lot of gold, and dresses with too much fabric. Han’s a little hazy on the details.

Finally, Organa says, “I’ll contact Saw. Do you know Takodana?”

Han’s never heard of it.

[Yes,] Chewie says. Han shoots him a questioning look, but tells Organa they can get there.

“Good.” Organa sighs again. Guy seems like he’s probably stressed all the time; Han feels a little bad for adding to it. “I need you to get there as soon as possible. We’ll meet on the south side of the lake at Maz Kanata’s castle.”

Han confirms and the line goes dead. He turns to look at Chewie, eyebrow raised. “What’s Takodana?”

  

The navicomputer tells them it’ll take just over seventeen hours to get there. It’s almost a straight shot, with only a few planets to avoid in the Western Reaches, but they still have to cross nearly the full length of the galaxy. Briefly, when Elthree is calculating route, Han lets his eyes linger on the Unknown Regions. If the _Falcon_ could handle the hazards of the Kessel Run, he’d love to see what she’s capable of out there. But not now.

Instead, he double checks the route, then he and Chewie make the jump to hyperspace.

The _Falcon_ makes it two jumps before a warning pops up, saying the filters need to be cleaned. Kriffing sand planets. Han rolls his eyes and checks the console to see where they are.

His eyebrows raise when he realizes they’re only a few parsecs from the Jedha system. The Empire has begun to gain a foothold on the moon in the past years, which will make it tricky if they want to land there. He hasn’t had a chance to study the transponder codes in depth, and since they were Lando’s first, he doesn’t know if any of them will raise red flags at the spaceport in Jedha City.

Han stares at the map, eyes slowly unfocusing.

...NaJedha has a breathable atmosphere. He’s seen holos, and the pink planet-wide ocean is a little strange, but it’s probably not the weirdest planet in the galaxy. There’s gotta be some sort of natural outcrops above the ocean. If they land on NaJedha, they won’t have to worry about noisy locals or trigger-happy Imps coming to investigate the ship.

“Chewie, redirect for NaJedha,” Han tells him. Chewie grunts and inputs the new coordinates.

The _Falcon’s_ sublight engines are top of the line, so it doesn’t take long for the planet and her moon to loom up in the viewport. Han angles the ship so Jedha is hidden behind her planet; they don’t need any long-range sensors picking up readings of the ship.

He hadn’t expected NaJedha to be quite so… _pink_. It gives him a headache just looking at it.

“Alright Chewie,” Han says, tightening his grip on the controls. “Once we break atmo we’ve got to look for a landing site large enough for the _Falcon_.”

Chewie shoots him a look that says _I already knew that_. Han ignores him.

Lando steps into the cockpit as they start their descent. Instead of sitting, he leans against the headrest of the pilot’s chair, his elbow cushioned on Han’s head. Han twitches in annoyance, but he can’t spare a hand to swat at him.

“What are we doing?” Lando asks. His voice sounds innocent enough, but he digs his elbow in a little deeper as he says it.

“Gotta clean the filters before the next jump.” Han reaches for a switch. If it happens to dislodge Lando and make him fall forward before catching himself, well, that’s just a bonus.

Lando makes a disapproving sound but doesn’t actually argue. When Han glances up at him, his eyes are fixed on the viewport, expression sharp and hungry.

Up until that moment, Han had planned on going out with Chewie to fix the filters himself, but he definitely doesn’t trust Lando to take control of the ship and abandon them on NaJedha. The girls might avenge them, but they’re just as likely to join causes with Lando and disappear to terrorize the galaxy.

Han pushes the controls down and says, “Lando, you know the ship better than anyone. Will you help Chewie clean the filters and make any repairs? I’ll keep an eye on the kids.”

Silence. Han glances up again in time to catch Lando’s scowl, before he smoothes it into something more neutral. Hah, he knew it.

“Sure,” Lando says, careless enough that Han could almost forget what he just saw. “I don’t think you would know a filter from a power converter anyway, _Han_.”

Han grits his teeth to keep his response to himself. Pissing Lando off is only gonna work against him right now.

A heavy silence settles over the cockpit as Han and Chewie direct the _Falcon_ over the surface of NaJedha. They fly over the tops of most of the planet’s natural crystal outcroppings, but they still have to weave through the tallest of them.

“There,” Lando says, after several tense minutes. He’s pointing off toward the right; Han corrects the ship to follow Lando’s directions. It only takes a moment for him to spot it as well: a slab of rock embedded in a particularly big crystal tower, held far above the water line. The rock was probably pulled up from the ocean floor as the crystal grew. It’s easily big enough for the _Falcon_ to land, with room to spare for Chewie and Lando to maneuver safely around the ship.

As Han pulls the ship up into position over the rock, Chewie lifts up his arm to drop the landing gear. Lando beats him to it, flipping the switch easily. Han can’t spare him a nasty glance right now, but he _really_ wants to.

The ship has to be shut down entirely to get to the filters but Han and Chewie are well-versed at that by now, and it only takes a few minutes once he sets her down.

Chewie and Lando disappear toward the access ramp, leaving Han in the cockpit with his hands still on the controls. He takes a deep breath, then another. Okay. He has a game plan. This’ll be fine. Showtime.

The girls are in the main hold, sitting at the deactivated dejarik table and looking bored. Han skips straight to step six of the plan (entertained at all costs), because bored ten-year-olds are the last thing he needs right now.

“Okay,” he says with maybe too much forced cheeriness, planting his feet shoulder width apart and sticking his fists on his hips. The girls look up at him. Leia’s hair is coming out of her braid again; he doesn’t understand how she manages to get so disheveled without actually _doing_ anything. “Who wants to watch a holovid?”

He raises his hand. The girls just look sort of skeptical. Han raises his hand a bit higher and smiles. If they bite, it’ll keep them occupied for at least two hours while Lando and Chewie are working, _and_ he’ll only have to exert minimal levels of effort.

After another moment he gives up, sighing and dropping his hand. “What’s wrong with the holo idea?”

“Holovids are boring,” Jyn tells him with ironclad authority.

Han just stares at her, bewildered. Who _are_ these kids?

“Alright, scoot over,” he says. When they don’t move, Han strides over to the bench and nudges Leia until she shifts. He takes a seat next to her and jabs at the holoprojector controls on the side of the table. He knows they can store other holos, besides the game pieces, and Lando definitely seems like the type to save a few of his favorite for long trips. Han doesn’t think Elthree would have agreed to storing them in her memory banks instead.

With a bit of fiddling, he gets the projector to switch over to the backup data storage. The first holodrama in the queue boots up and Han leans back, satisfied.

“This should be interesting,” he says, mostly to himself. Depending on what it is, he could get a lot of mileage for ribbing Lando out of this.

The projector whirrs to life, throwing the holo up on the far wall of the hold. After half a second, the sound comes on too. It’s frilly, romantic music that swells as the title appears.

 **_RYLOTH PLACE_ ** **_  
_** **_“The Ayyn Mutiny”_ **

Two Twi’leks replace the title, the male holding the female in his arms as she swoons. The female is decidedly underdressed.

Han lunges forward and turns the projector off. He exhales; that was a close one.

“Hey!” Leia says. Han turns to look at her; she and Jyn are both pouting. “That looked interesting. Turn it back on.”

“No way, squirt,” he says. There’s gotta be something else here, though. He turns the projector back on and starts skipping to the next holovid in the queue.

Ten minutes and a hundred-something episode later, Han finally, _finally_ gets something that isn’t _Ryloth Place._

Instead, it’s Lando’s face, blown up horrifyingly large. He looks young without the goatee.

“Calrissian Chronicles, episode one,” recording-Lando says.

No _kriffing_ way. Lando’s never gonna live this down.

Han spends the next hour trying desperately not to laugh. Some of the stories are ridiculous, and some he has to skip (Jyn and Leia do _not_ need to know, in graphic detail, about the time Lando slept with a very open interspecies triad), but it’s actually—pretty interesting, overall. The girls are on the edge of their seats the whole time, at least, and neither of them so much as get up to go to the bathroom.

He dozes a little after that, secure in the knowledge that the kids are entertained and no one’s gonna steal his ship. At some point, Leia leans into him, her attention still fixed on the holovid.

He gets pulled from his nap when Jyn yells, “Hey! Not fair!”

Han’s eyes open to find Lando looming over him, face thunderous.

“Oh, hey,” Han tries, but Lando cuts him off.

“Those were private,” Lando grits out.

Han glances at the holo, frozen on recording-Lando’s face, mid-word. It’s not a flattering still. He says, smirking, “Well, according to episode twelve of the Calrissian Chronicles, you were gonna get these published. Doesn’t sound very private to me.”

Lando draws himself up more; he looks like a puffed up tooka cat.

Han cuts him off before he can speak. “Did you guys fix everything?”

After a long moment where it seems like Lando isn’t going to answer just to spite Han, he deflates.

“Yeah,” Lando says. He jerks his fist, pointed with his thumb toward the cockpit. “Chewie’s going over the diagnostics right now.”

Han shifts Leia so she’s leaning against Jyn, stands, and claps Lando on the shoulder. He says, “Your turn to babysit the terrors.”

He exits the hold quickly to the chorus of three different voices shouting _hey!_

Chewie lets Han help run the diagnostics, his eyes kept away from the viewscreen and the sight of the monstrously pink ocean. It’s easy work to push the _Falcon_ out of orbit and into hyperspace, and then Chewie picks him up using just the front of his shirt and deposits him behind the jump seats.

[Go sleep,] Chewie rumbles at him, then adds a fond, [cub.]

Han considers being offended, but the exhaustion is finally starting to crash down on him. Naps at the dejarik table and in the armchairs aren’t enough.

He fixes his shirt, snaps Chewie a terrible salute he can’t see, and leaves the cockpit.

  

Han sleeps for six hours, face jammed into his pillow and leg half hanging off the bed. He groans when he wakes up, forced to lay there until feeling returns to his foot. When he stumbles out into the main hold, bleary and desperately in need of caf, Lando and Chewie are seated at the dejarik table. Leia emerges from the loading room, wearing a blue and gold cape that’s so large on her it drags along the ground.

She saunters across the hold and stops in Chewie and Lando’s line of sight. They dutifully ooh and ahh, clapping when she disappears back into the hold only to be replaced by Jyn in a purple velvet cloak.

Han blinks, dumbfounded. He manages, “Wha–?”

Lando throws him a glance. “It’s fashion, _Han_ , you wouldn’t understand.”

Well alright. Han shrugs and goes to make himself a cup of caf.

The rest of the trip passes rather quickly, after that, and Han tries not to be disappointed that Jyn and Leia will leave, soon. Sure, they’re tiny demons, but they’ve sorta grown on him.

After he eats and drinks his caf, Han takes a shift in the cockpit, but they don’t have to drop out of warp very often. He swaps off with Chewie about halfway through and wolfs down another ration bar before Leia demands a dejarik rematch.

She wins.

Han demands a rematch.

She wins again.

Lando, from where he’s watching, laughs. He says, “I think she’s figured you out, _Han_.”

There’s no _way_ this kid is winning after playing only one game.

It dawns on Han that Jyn is nowhere in sight. He knows she isn’t in the cockpit, and while it’s possible she’s in the bunk room, he doesn’t think she’d want to be too far away from her friend right before they’re due to be separated…

He ducks down under the table and catches Jyn with her fingers in the guts of the game, face screwed up in concentration. She realizes he’s looking and tips her head to look at him, smiling sheepishly.

“Sorry?” she says, not sounding sorry at all.

Lando laughs so hard he falls over.

  

They set the _Falcon_ down in a clearing that’s across a wide, still lake from an imposing fortress covered in more flags than Han would’ve thought existed in the entire galaxy. Two ships are waiting for them, neither ones he saw on Averam. Han wonders how they beat him here, if they were coming from the other side of the Core, but figures Organa and Gerrera are probably the type to have people everywhere.

After shutting down the ship with Chewie, he meets Lando and the girls by the ramp. He crouches down in front of them and takes hold of both their shoulders.

“Listen up, pipsqueaks,” Han says. Leia makes a face but doesn’t argue. “Chewie and I are gonna check it out first, okay? We need to make sure these are the right people before you come running out. So you’ll stay here with Lando until we give the all clear.”

They nod in unison, little faces set with grim determination.

Stars, these kids have grown on him.

He tells them, “I’m gonna miss you both, you little terrors. But I got a reputation to uphold, so if there’s gonna be any sappy goodbyes they gotta happen now.”

Without looking at each other, they both launch themselves forward and wrap their arms around him.

“We’ll miss you,” Leia says.

“Yeah.” Jyn sniffs, though it’s muffled by Han’s shirt. “You’ll have to work with Saw again, you can’t forget us.”

If Lando ever tries to use the fact that Han teared up against him, he’ll just bring up the fact that Lando was definitely not-so-discreetly wiping his eyes on the hem of his cape at the same time. Who can remain emotionless in the face of that?

He pulls back and smiles, gently ruffling Jyn’s hair and tweaking the end of Leia’s braid. He tells them, “C’mon, forget you? After all the trouble you caused me?”

The girls giggle. Han catches Lando’s eye over their shoulders, and the man nods. They may not get along, but he’ll protect them if something goes wrong.

Han stands, and with a final grin for the kids exits the ship. Once he’s out of their line of sight, he draws his blaster but keeps it low.

Saw Gerrera stands at the base of the ramp for one of the ships. At the sight of him, Han allows himself to relax, though the blaster stays firmly in his grip. He’s not sure who’s on the second ship, but if Gerrera is here, at least he doesn’t have to worry about an ambush.

The ramp of the second ship lowers smoothly, not making a sound. The ship is meant to look plain and it almost accomplishes it, but it’s too well made, too clean and new-looking.

A woman exits first, hand resting on the butt of her holstered weapon. She has the look of a soldier with the bearing to match, her clothes plain but sturdy and her hair pulled back from her face in a practical braid. She lifts her hand to her mouth, probably saying something into a comlink sewn into her cuff. She moves off to the side of the ramp, posture relaxed.

A second woman descends the ramp, and Han feels his posture straighten without him meaning to. Even with her unadorned gown, even with her dark hair in a simply braid around the crown of her head, something about her draws the eye. Corellians don’t believe in royalty on principle, but he thinks he could, if the royal in question looks like her.

She is, without a doubt, Leia’s mother and the queen of Alderaan.

Rather than dealing with… all of that, Han turns and calls up the ramp, “All clear, Lando.”

Lando comes down the ramp first, hands tucked in the folds of his cape; Han wouldn’t be surprised if he’s holding at least one blaster. He’s followed by Leia and Jyn. The girls see their respective guardian at the same time and burst into a run.

“Mami!” Leia cries, wrapping her arms around the queen’s waist.

Jyn is a little more reserved, but she still says, “Saw!” and tucks herself against his side. Han doesn’t think she’s comfortable against all that metal, but she looks more open than she did the entire time they were on the ship. Saw wraps his arm around her. When Han raises his eyes, he catches Saw’s gaze. The man nods and turns back toward his ship. Jyn waves once at Han, Chewie, and Lando, and then in Leia’s direction, before disappearing up the ramp.

Leia, meanwhile, is still holding her mother’s waist and looking up at her like she hung all the stars in the galaxy. Her mother is frowning as she says, “Don’t think you aren’t in trouble, mija.”

Leia’s smile freezes on her face. Han doesn’t know how parents do it; he’d cave under that sad expression in an instant.

Then, her mother kneels down and draws Leia into a tight hug, heedless of her dress on the grass. “I’m so glad you’re safe though.”

Han looks away and blinks a few times. He will remain strong.

Leia and her mother exchange a whispered conversation, then the woman rises and walks toward Han. Honestly, the word _walks_ seems almost too… common. She practically glides.

Han eyes the distance between him and Chewie. He might have time to hide if—

“Thank you for keeping my daughter safe,” the woman says, suddenly in front of Han. Stars, she moves fast. “My name is Breha Organa.”

After a stuttering moment of panicked indecision, Han gives a jerky bow. Next to Breha, Leia giggles. “It was my pleasure, Your, uh, Highness.” It feels weird using a title without sarcasm. Han definitely doesn’t like it. “I’m Han Solo. That’s Chewie and he’s Lando Calrissian.”

She gives them all an appraising look. He knows they make a motley bunch, and her shrewd gaze only increases his awareness of that fact.

“I know you work with my husband,” Breha says, casting a glance at her daughter. She takes a moment to consider her words. “Alderaan is always open to you and your crew.”

He gives her another hybrid head nod-bow. Breha reaches out and holds her hand there until he takes it and shakes. She has a grip like iron.

She pivots on her heel and strides back to the ship. Leia follows her, looking back once to wave. The soldier waits by the ramp, and boards the ship last.

Han steps back as both of the ships power up. There’s an odd feeling in his chest, like regret and sadness and joy all mixed up together.

Lando sidles up to Han as they watch the ships take off. Under his breath, he says, “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

“I know,” Han says.

“You left me to watch them cry and promise they’ll keep in touch,” Lando continues. Han looks at him out of the corner of his eye, but Lando is facing completely forward, seemingly paying Han no attention. “Only a monster wouldn’t be moved by that.”

Han smirks and turns to face Lando’s profile.

“Look,” he says, “you’ve got two options. Come with Chewie and I, make a tiny bit of a difference in the galaxy. Stay with the _Falcon_ and make sure we don’t mess her up too bad. Or: we leave you here, and you get to test your luck with Maz’s castle. I hear they’re a tough crowd.”

Lando looks out across the lake, eyes wide. “This is Takodana?” He stares at the lake a moment longer before turning to Han. “You gotta take me with you. I pissed off Maz like two years ago. She _never_ forgets a grudge.”

Over Lando’s shoulder, Han sees Chewie start off toward the lake. He calls, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Chewie doesn’t turn back. [Maz will not forgive me if I don’t see her. It’s our anniversary today.]

Han gapes at his back. Their _what_?

Chewie doesn’t stop. Han looks between him and Lando, and then back to the castle in the distance.

Well, what the hell.

He slaps Lando on the back. “C’mon, it’s Chewie’s anniversary with Maz and we gotta help him celebrate.” He smirks at the pained sound Lando makes. “You’re not staying with my ship alone, pal. I don’t trust you with her that much.”

Han sets off after Chewie.

“She’s _my_ ship,” Lando mutters behind him. Han laughs and ignores him.

Time for another adventure.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

Ten years later...

The cantina is fit to burst, packed tight with some of the worst criminals to be found in Nar Shaddaa’s underbelly. Han’s already had to fend off two pickpockets, a low level smuggler who thinks she’s hot shit, and a gang of dancers looking to kidnap him. The flashing lights and loud music are giving him a headache that squeezes at his temples and he’s pretty sure that’s Boba Fett eyeing him from across the room. He’d know that scratched paint job anywhere.

Han presses further back in the booth, glad Chewie is there for him to hide behind. He’s getting too old for this shit. Once Lando gets back from the bar with their drinks, he’s gonna insist on going back to the ship. Clearly, their information was bad; no one’s meeting them here tonight.

As he thinks it, an old R2 series astromech rolls up. Han eyes it curiously; most places around here don’t let droids in, as much from prejudice as to make sure they don’t get stripped for parts within seconds. They especially don’t like droids without restraining bolts, which this little droid is definitely missing. He wonders how it got in here, and how it managed to get across the entire cantina without losing a single panel.

The droid wheels right up to the edge of the booth and whistles at him in binary.

Han leans forward across the table, hand pressed into the top. He says, loud enough to be heard over the noise, “Sorry pal, I don’t understand binary.”

The droid makes a sound that could almost be called annoyed and boots up its front facing holoprojector.

A small figure pops up, seemingly supported by the booth’s cushions. She’s young-ish and dressed all in white, a hood drawn up over her hair. As the recording begins, she looks around furtively before facing the recording device.

And then, a voice he still recognizes a decade later says, “Help me, Han Solo, you’re my only hope.”

Han drops his head to the table and groans. “Not again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated, but never required. If you're reading the fic right now, head on over to the podfic and give it a listen; reena_jenkins really brought Han's perspective to life. Go give her some love for all the hard work she did, she definitely deserves it!
> 
> Read on,  
> Skats

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Han Solo: Accidental Babysitter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18683614) by [reena_jenkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reena_jenkins/pseuds/reena_jenkins), [skatzaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/pseuds/skatzaa)




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